Imbecilic, Cyrodiilic Fighters Guild Barbarians
by Abozzaire
Summary: The two guilds of Cyrodiil are negotiating a treaty, requiring a trade of agents. Can our fiery mage get over her prejudices and learn to accept, even love, the Guild? 0r will the Blackwood Company get in the way of this unforeseen romance? Modryn/OFC
1. The First Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own Oblivion or anything Elder Scrolls related. Goes without saying, but it seems I'm suppose to state that at the beginning of each fic.

Note: Modryn Oreyn is a lot younger in this fic than he is in the actual game. He looks like he's somewhere in his twenties. I'm not sure about the mer aging business. In fact, could someone enlighten me? ANYWAY, review, and I might continue! I might continue without your review too though, or I might not continue without reviews all together. Who knows?

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**Chapter One: The First Chapter**

Chorrol was a pretty enough place, Jesi decided, though she much preferred the Imperial City's tall stonework, bustling energy, and aesthetic gardens to this modest place. Things happened in the city; here, well, she thought she'd be lucky if she didn't feint in the streets due to boredom. _Not that you don't have a job to do_; she reminded herself as she jammed her hands into the roomy pockets of her blue robe, loose and faded with age. It was simply that said job wasn't particularly interesting, if not overly distasteful.

Jesi walked passed the huge, circular statue in the front of town. A mediocre interpretation of a woman healing a man, by the looks of it. Both wild and artificially bred flowers were planted around the piece of masonry, and a beggar sat along the outer rim. She bit her lip as she walked by him, thinking that she was lucky that she wasn't in his position. Really, truly lucky.

Approaching the great oak for which the town was famous, she made several important, though internal, notes. There was a Mages Guild outpost here, so at least Jesi would be able to socialize with some of her own folk. A week with only Fighter's Guild barbarians to converse with and she'd be as bad as a raving skooma addict. She wasn't a stupid woman, she new brute force was useful and even necessary on occasion, but the Guild barbarians were much too quick to apply it.

She sat, folding the robe neatly beneath her bottom, and examined the door through which she would soon step.

There were wrought iron spears-like things leading up to it on either side of the steps, almost like a demented and decidedly useless railing. _How . . . farcical, _Jesi thought. Other than the metal posts and the sign claiming 'Fighters Guild' in bold, capitol letters the building was nondescript. Just the same as the other high-class homes around it. She wondered who, exactly, was rich enough to live in such an expensive place. She was glad that she didn't have to buy a home in Chorrol, only rent a room that was already paid for by the Guild anyway.

Sometime during her thoughts, a person had come and sat down right next to her on the craftsman's wooden bench. She heard them now, breathing rather heavily. Not turning her head, Jesi changed her point of focus from the buildings around her to the person. For a brief moment she thought they would not speak, but such luck was nonexistent in Tamriel.

"So you're the snob come to condemn us," he – for it _definitely _was a he – said in a deep, confident voice. A mer of some sort, she knew as soon as he spoke. Accent . . . from Morrowind. Turning her head a quarter, so that she was looking straight ahead instead of at him, Jesi noted she had been correct. The blue-ish hue of his skin told her that he was Dunmeric, to be precise.

"And you're the typical Fighter's Guild barbarian, odor and all." She wrinkled her nose, indeed whiffing a strong scent of sweat and dirt rolling off him. He quite literally reeked of unpleasantness.

He looked at her as he phrased his retort, "You are mistaken. This smell," he leaned in a little closer, "is that of success." He was so close that every time he inhaled he brushed against Jesi's arm. The the invasion of her space and obvious intent of coercion bothered her, she neither moved away nor looked at him at all. If he thought he could intimidate her so easily, he was in for a shock.

"Yes, well, it's been lovely meeting you, but your 'success' is making me nauseous. Let's not do it again." Jesi stood, walking straight-backed to the door.

He, rather typically, raced ahead and pulled the door open for her. She smirked as she stepped over the threshold, murmuring in a voice meant for his ears alone, "How quaint, you're the doorman." She knew, of course, that he was no such thing, but his reaction was too sweet to pass up. He sort of puffed himself up, and she saw his dark cheeks gain a purple hue. She noticed he had his hair sticking up in a black Mohawk. She smiled, the style reminded her of a specific Dunmer at the Arcane University. He had always been infinitely more tolerable that this barbarian, however.

"Not quite, ma'am. It is oft that mages have trouble muscling through the door." He shrugged eloquently, though still purple in the face. "A side affect of having the crutch of magic, I suppose."

Jesi might have growled had she not prided herself in being better than these barbarians. She'd been accused of relying on magic only too often, both during physical exertion and mental. As it was, she decided that, given the chance, she'd be only too happy to show him just how useful magic was; in particular, the school of destruction.

Instead she merely shrugged off the jibe, turning her attention to the pompous Imperial who'd already introduced himself as the 'porter'. "Yes, I'd like you to lead me to Vilena Donton." She ordered. He nodded, but looked at her with distaste. _That is fine. What does it matter what they think?_

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to see the Champion, he--"

Jesi interrupted. "No, thank you. I would like it very much if you'd show me to your guild-master, Vilena Donton."

He looked like he was about to argue, but the Dunmer behind her shook his head, an amused fire in his eyes. None of this Jesi saw, however. She may have been of magician rank in the guild, but she did not posess eyes in the back of her head. The porter nodded, and started up the stairs, his full set of steel armor clanking and groaning. She rolled her eyes at the display. Jesi wondered why the barbarians insisted on running around in eighty-pound sets of armor, night and day. It was . . . vacuous.

After two sets of stairs they reached a unique balcony, set _inside _the building. _What a wonderful feat of architectural genius_, she snorted. It apparently served as the Master's office, though. Jesi treked up the stairs, leaving the porter behind. By a large oak desk – she wondered with satire if the oak had been taken from Chorrol's cherished great oak – stood an old a frail looking woman. She was wearing some sort of metal armor, and, rather oddly, a silk skirt.

Donton watched her as she climbed the last few stairs, and hailed her. "Greetings, I come as a-" Jesi began.

"Yes, yes, I know. You are a representative, Jesi Briar, of the Mage's Guild, come to offer peace and communication in our headquarters. I've already sent my man back to your Inane University."

Jesi cleared her throat. "_Arcane _University." She corrected, not bothering to add a ma'am or miss to the sentence. She didn't particularly care to be polite just then.

"Yes, yes, whatever." Donton repeated. "I suppose you want some sort of orders from me?"

"A set of rules would be nice. Traven wasn't very clear." And indeed he hadn't been. He'd told her that she would be traveling to the Fighters Guild and acting as a correspondent between the two. A Fighters Guild member would be living in the Arcane University, doing the same. The reason, he said, was that the two needed to 'come together in a cooperative bond'. Her opinion of Traven had significantly lowered after that, though she had left that day without a fuss. One does not fight with one's superiors, after all.

"Well you'll have to go to my Champion for that, Modryn Oreyn. He will debrief you on the rules and expectations." Donton said tiredly. Jesi tilted her head to the side, wondering how this woman remained in control of her guild. Granted, Traven was a bit weak, and some disliked him, but on a whole he had many followers, and above all he was wise. Donton, however, seemed to be riding off previously earned esteem.

Jesi didn't bother to say any goodbyes - Donton had already turned and engrossed herself in a piece of parchment - just descended the stairs. She wondered who Modryn Oreyn was, and where she could find him. Vilena Donton wasn't very helpful.

She walked down the stairs and turned a corner and . . . jumped. "Damnit!" Jesi cursed, nearly falling to the ground. The porter had appeared right in front of her, his sneering face inches from hers. More like inches _above _hers, but still.

"Is there something you require?" He asked, making all to plain that he'd been eavesdropping on her short conversation with Vilena Donton.

Jesi took a deep breath, putting on her best scoffing expression and said, "Yes, would you bring me to a Modryn Oreyn?"

He turned on his heel and walked off. She followed, straightening her back and upping her chin. She wanted to appear as cool and collected as possible, so as to gain respect from the savages immediately. It was still early in the morning, but there were already several people wandering around. She could hear metal hitting metal, and grunting from a room nearby.

The porter led Jesi down to the first level, where she'd originally entered, and then took a right. Eventually, they both stood in front of a round table, where the same Dunmer from earlier sat, alone, eating. "The Champion." The porter said, gesturing to the Dunmer, then left.

The Dunmer looked up at me, arching a black brow. She imagined he still smelled just as distastefully, so she opted to keep her distance. "You are Modryn Oreyn," she said formally, deciding then and there to forget their previous conversation.

"Yes," he said, and put half of a banana into his mouth. When he was finished swallowing, he said, "As for any rules, just stay out of our way. Don't bother us, and we wont bother you." His voice dipped at the end into a threatening growl. _Okay, _Jesi thought bitterly, _message recieved. _She resisted the urge to preform a mock salute.

"And . . ." Jesi said, just getting started with her own little threat.

But he stood up before she could finished, commanding silence. She gulped. When they'd been exchanging banter earlier his . . . authority had been easily missed. But now . . . Now she was completely awestruck by him. He was actually rather handsome . . . for a Dunmer. He had the same, typical Dunmer eyes: feline and red. But they were somehow deeper, darker, more insightful. When he looked at her she felt she was being examined cursorily, every detail out for him to see. His full and upright form quite nearly commanded one's full respect and attention.

It was . . . Unwelcome. She did not like the way he examined her carefully, looked as if he saw her, knew her. He was a savage, a Fighters Guild barbarian. She scoffed, putting extra effort into her sneering expression, and walked away. She swept out the door, deciding in that moment that the inns of Chorrol deserved a look-see. Even a magician needed to sleep at some point.

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Posted: December 25, 2009

Edited: May 16, 2010


	2. Summerset Mutt

**Chapter Two: Summerset Mutt**

She'd always loved being half Redguard. Not only did nobody ever suspect her of anything, but she looked a lot fiercer than she actually was. When one thinks of Redguard, they think swords and bows and axes and heavy metal armor. Who ever heard of a Redguard thief? Or, for that matter, a Redguard mage? No, Redguards are amongst the most easily trusted beings of the realm. The Emperor's guard _was _comprised mostly of Redguards, no? That had to be worth _something. _

Jesi came a long in a bit of a scandal, as her Ma was fond of telling her. Her father, one must understand, was an Altmer mage, living on his own estate in the Summerset Isle. He had a full staff of servants to manage his house, and a beautiful Altmer wife to boot. Ma loved telling this tale, and she did so to anyone that would listen. Jesi, of course, had heard it about a thousand times.

The 'beautiful Altmer wife' wondered for the entirety of a week one summer twenty-five years ago where her husband wandered off to after dark. Of course, she discovered exactly where he went when she followed him, right into the servant's quarters and into the arms of a waiting Redguard maid. Of course she was angry, and threw one of the temper tantrums Altmer were so famous for, but the damage was done.

The Redguard maid was immediately disposed of, meaning they fired her, meaning she was taken to the nearest city and left for dead. With money she'd either saved up or stolen, she left Summerset Isle for the Imperial city in Cyrodiil, and didn't look back. Six months later she arrived at her destination and landed a job with a local earl as his personal chef. She was already pregnant when she arrived, and two months after that, Jesi was born.

She was born as a weak baby, nearly a month premature. Ma always thought her daughter hadn't developed properly. By all rights Jesi should have been tall, as both her parents were, and dark skinned. But instead Ma got Jesi, short and fair for a Redguard. Her hair wasn't the wiry bird's nest that Jesi's mother possessed, but instead silky and thick like an Altmer. Ma used to love running her fingers through it when Jesi was younger. It was also apparent, by the age of fourteen, that she'd inherited something else from her father: his longevity.

At fourteen she looked about seven. One must understand that elves, specifically Altmer, grow at a different pace than the other races. Their childhood is longer; they look young until they're about sixteen. Then, over the course of two years, they grow at an alarming rate until they're full sized. Those are their adolescent years until they're about nineteen. Then they are considered adults, even though they still look rather young. The peak of their life comes at around age one-hundred, and after that they have another one to two hundred years of aging. So, at twenty-four years old, Jesi looked about seventeen.

Ma still worked for that man in Umbacano Manor, but it'd been over a year since Jesi had seen her face to face. Jesi and her mother each other often, however, letters can never substitute for human contact. Her studies always kept Jesi locked up in the Arcane University among the books and ink. She'd been there, doing minor research projects for the arch-mage ever since she left her mother and Umbacano manor at the age of eighteen. Umbacano was a decent enough man; indeed, he took a special interest in Jesi once she revealed herself to be half Altmer. He taught her the basics of spell craft, and paid for anything she needed when she first started off at the University.

Jesi smiled, finishing her signature with a flourish on the letter she'd been writing to Ma. Jesi hadn't been able to tell her about her newest 'assignment' yet, so that was what she was doing. _Mornings are going to be the highlight of my day, _Jesi mused sorrowfully. When she was done signing her name, she folded up the letter and stuffed it into an envelope. Emfrid, the innkeeper and the Grey Mare, looked at her curiously. Ahe supposed it was only natural since Jesi had been sitting at the table across from her for at least an hour.

Jesi looked up and smiled, "Finished," she breathed, more to herself than the inkeeper.

She nodded, however, to Jesi, returning the smile. It was a warm, genuine thing, and she found herself liking the inkeeper a lot more than she should. She just seemed so trustworthy. "Not often that I get letter-writers in here." Emfrid said thoughtfully. "Usually it's just the drinkers."

"Yes, well, I have to let her know how she am other wise she'll throw a fit," As an after thought, realizing her words had made very little sense, she added, "My mother, I mean." Jesi purposefully didn't call her 'Ma'.

Emfrid's smile widened. "I don't believe I know your name, ma'am."

"Jesi." She said, "Jesi Briar."

"You look like someone that has plans to be stayin' a while." Emfrid said offhandedly.

Jesi tilted her head to the side, walking over to lead on the counter Emfrid stood at. "How could you tell? I haven't even paid you in advance yet."

"Most folks don't make themselves so comfortable. And when I went up to clean your room I noticed it was all tidy, everything folded and placed on the shelves. Even some books I didn't recognize." She explained after a short chuckle.

"Oh, well," Jesi was lost for words for a moment. She rubbed her tired eyes, and then finally said, "You're perceptive."

"I gotta be. Not only am I runnin' an inn here, but also a bar. A bar that those Fighters Guild folks frequent, too."

"Do they bother you?" Jesi asked, alert. On some subconscious level, she wanted every reason she could gather to justify her rather unjustifyable hatred for the Fighters Guild

"Naw, not usually." She replied. "They're pretty peaceful. And if one isn't, I can always find Oreyn."

_Oh, that one, _Jesi thought. "Oreyn?"

"Yes. He's always willing to pull his men from their tankards and outta my place if I can't do it. Granted, I usually can. Seems there's an awful lot of tiny Bosmers in the Guild." That pulled a chuckle out of Jesi.

"Little man syndrome," She said with a wink. Emfrid laughed obligingly.

"You don't like Oreyn." She stated after a moment.

"As a rule she don't like Fighters Guild barbarians." Jesi said carefully.

"What are you doing with them, anyway? At first I thought you were joining, but now I'm not so sure."

"Well you just know everybody's business," She joked. Emfrid didn't blush or look ashamed, only met her eyes steadily.

"I make a point of knowing a bit about my patrons." Jesi couldn't argue with that, but that didn't mean she had to answer, either.

But she wanted to. Jesi wanted to confide in someone the agony of being reassigned after working on the same research project for so long, after growing comfortable in the University. After making _freinds _for the first time in her life. She told Emfrid all of this, and how it was all ripped away from her the minute Hannibal Traven opened his mouth.

When she finished Emfrid said, "Well to me, and I'm no mage or brain, but it sounds like there isn't much of a point for you being here."

"_Exactly!_" she exclaimed. "That is what I tried to tell him. Didn't change a thing." It was starting to get light out. Jesi always woke before dawn, and went to sleep long after dark. She hardly slept at all, really. But when one has magic at their disposal, bad sleeping patterns weren't much of a problem. "Thanks for the chat, but I have to get going. I've got a day of observing imbeciles ahead of me."

Emfrid smiled a disproving yet amused smile. "Okay, goodbye."

Jesi left, holding her letter tightly in one hand. First off, she had to find someone who deliver mail. That, she easily found an hour later with an Argonian heading out of town. He was a Black Horse Courier delivery boy, and was willing to deliver her message for a few coins. She paid him gratefully.

After that she walked all around town, taking in the sights for the second time since arriving yesterday. She was able to waste about four hours just looking, and then she headed to the Mages Guild. Frankly, she was just buying time. She really dreaded going into the Fighters Guild. What would she do there anyway? Watch the 'big men' fight? _Ha, that would be a laugh, _Jesi thought.

As she entered the guild the first thing she saw was yet another Argonian, conjuring up a scamp. Several other early risers were puttering about in the entrance room, either speaking quietly to each other, reading, or practicing spell craft.

Jesi had always thought it was rather ridiculous how all the guilds were called something like 'Mages Guild' or 'Fighters Guild', even the 'Thieves Guild'. Why have some fancy guild with outposts all over the nation and their fingers in _everyone's _affairs if one is not going to call it something grand? The only even mildly intriguing title was the 'Arcane University', and even then it's nothing special. Perhaps the founders planned everything around simplicity for the dumber folk.

"Greetings, associate." The Argonian said as Jesi approached him, a smile tolerant plastered across her face. How did he know she was Mages Guild? For a moment she was a bit suspicious, first the Emfrid and now this Argonian? But then she remembered the telltale set of standard blue mage robes she was wearing. _Oh. _

Jesi nodded her head to him.

"Are you here for a recommendation?" He asked. His voice was, perhaps, a little too eager.

"_Umm, _no." She said. "I am here as a representative from the Arcane University to the Fighters Guild. I don't need a recommendation." She added the last just to drive in the point a little harder: she outranked him. _Far _outranked him, most likely.

"_Ah_," He hissed, "I heard about that. It was you Traven sent? I would have expected someone more . . . thuggish in order to relate to _them_ a bit more." He said, and Jesi decided that she liked him. She liked anyone of similar opinion to herself.

"Yes, precisely." She graced him with a smile, a real smile, though it was not meant to seduce. She was perfectly aware that she was no beauty. "I didn't catch you name."

"Teekeeus." The Argonian hissed. "And yours?"

"Jesi Briar." She said. She always liked to say her last name upon introducing herself; she thought it sounded better, more professional. No one ever liked a Redguard mage, so she needed all the professionalism she could get.

"Well, Miss Briar, you are welcome here whenever those savages become too much to bear. By the way," he said offhandedly, "You haven't seen an Altmer woman named Earana of late, have you?"

"I've seen an Altmer, but I haven't the faintest idea what her name is." She said hesitantly.

"Yes," he answered distractedly, "Around the great oak? Wearing upper-class clothing? That'll be her." He metaphorically came back from the clouds, and focused on her. "Stay away from her, she's nothing but trouble."

"Okay," Jesi said jovially, thinking that she would, instead, go have a chat with this Earana sometime soon. Perhaps she was an interesting character? "Goodbye, Teekeeus, I'm off to poke around in things she aught not to poke." She joked, and pranced off. Well, she really didn't _prance, _per se, but she did put a bit of a bounce into her step as she headed up the stairs.

This guild was particularly well equipped, as she soon discovered. They had an extensive library, and a decent living quarters above it. After taking time to look at each display case, and even fondle with a couple books she returned to the main level. Jesi was sorely tempted to descend into the basement, but decided that was a venture for another time.

She left unnoticed, thankfully. Outside, now under the midday sun, she saw the woman she assumed Teekeeus had been speaking of, Earana, speaking to a guard in the shade of the great oak. _Pssh, great oak. _Earana was a tall woman wearing green silk that probably cost a fortune. Jesi, who wasn't rich by any means, _tried _to reserve her judgement. Needless to say, her mind went on to judge without her exclusive permissions.

Jes watched her for a mohernt, sizing her up. In size, literally, she out shadowed Jesi greatly. But that was a given. She walked up to the woman as soon as she finished her astonishingly boring chat with the guard about the area surrounding Chorrol, and initiated conversation.

"Hail, Altmer." Jesi said with cheekily. It always amused her what answers people gave when she spoke thus.

Earana turned and looked down at her coldly. "You're a bold little thing, aren't you? It is a pity you have no use to me, goodbye." And with that she turned away.

"I hear you're friends with Teekeeus."

"No, you heard incorrectly, little one. Now, be a dear and finish the wash." Jesi swept up a thick, brown eyebrow. Most Altmer were a little bit snobbish, but this woman was something else entirely. Thinking that she was some sort of . . . of household servant when she clearly wore the robes of a mage and acted thusly.

"How quaint," Jesi said, "Another falsely informed Altmer."

She turned around, glaring. "You are in for a shock, girlie," the Altmer said. Her voice dropped to a rather unattractive growl, something she was quick to pick up on.

"You just continue to parade around here like some sort of god, wench," she said sweetly, completely offsetting her less than candy-like words. "But I think you are the one in for a culture shock."

"Did you lose your way, or perhaps, your sight?" Earana said. "I _am _a god. You should get used to it, guild dog."

"Are you too high and mighty to say 'bitch'?" Jesi jibed. "Too proper?"

"I suggest you make yourself scarce, little one, before I decide you're enough of a problem to warrant my attention."

Jesi laughed in her face. "You should get used to the fact that you're really not that frightening, Altmer," she said. "At least, not from where I am standing."

She sneered, "You'll soon learn that not everyone is willing to kneel before a delusional little Redguard."

Jesi didn't feel the need to point out that she was, indeed, half Altmer. Instead she said, "I think you're the one that needs to learn a lesson."

She laughed; a disdainful bark. "Delusional, you've proven yourself as once more. Perhaps I should inform the guards. You don't seem safe. Or maybe you've wandered a little to far from your master, and think you can talk like a big woman. Is he looking for you?"

Jesi clenched her fists into angry little balls, opening her lips not to throw an insult, but a spell. Quickly, something clamped over her mouth, something calloused and blue. She yelled, elbowing _him _in the gut.

Oreyn dragged her back, away from Earana. The guards didn't even do anything, the fetchers, when she was obviously being bloody kidnapped. He pulled her through the Fighters Guild doors, closing them when she was safely inside. "Don't you know when to back down?" He asked hotly.

"Don't you ever, _ever, _touch me again!" Jesi screamed, "Do you hear me? _Never_!"

"In the future I'll just let the mage incinerate you, then." He said, too calm for her liking. "You should be lucky I was watching; I more than likely saved your hide."

I groaned loudly. "Save my hide! She would have died had she touched me!" Jesi said, both screaming and laughing in one. "Died!"

"Be that as it may; you would have then been carted off to prison for the rest of your life. The first thing us mundane learn is when to recognize an angry spell caster, specifically one about ready to burst. I'll tell you a secret; you were the one about to attack."

"_Arghrrgh!"_ Jesi shouted, not really knowing what she was saying. "Bloody barbarian bastard!" She yelled at him pointlessly. Then her mood suddenly changed, and her tone dropped to a deadly hiss. "Listen here, _Oreyn, _you will never interfere with me again; else I will _make _you suffer the consequences." With that, Jesi walked past him and up the stairs.

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Posted: December 27, 209

Edited (poorly): May 16, 2010


	3. A Ridiculously Short Chapter

**Chapter Three: A Ridiculously Short Chapter**

Two hours later, Jesi settled down in a corner on the ground floor with a notepad, a quill and a pot of ink. She planned to write out a letter to Traven, a 'progress report' of sorts. She had little to say, but, well, it is better to do one's job well than not at all. She leaned over, casting a low-level flame spell to light the torch above her. As soon as the words left her mouth the torch sparked, then flickered to life.

_Arch-Mage Traven, _

_ I arrived in Chorrol yesterday, and met with Vilena Donton, who welcomed me as graciously as she was able. I have also met the 'champion' of the Fighters Guild, a sort of second in command type figure. His name is Modryn Oreyn. They do not seem to be the civil characters Donton portrayed them as. Indeed, this 'Oreyn' man is the most despicable of the bunch: immediately on my arrival he insulted and degraded me. Of course, I was able to handle the situation properly and with the level of respect he deserved, of course. _

Jesi smirked at the letter, properly indeed. She started to write again, filling in the details of her day yesterday and specifics of what she knew of the Fighters Guild echelon system. She was sure Traven would be pleased at all the information she had given him.

She was about half-way through the letter when she noticed someone walk up to her. She smiled to herself, happy that her hair had finally grown out long enough to hide that smile. It was time for a little experiment.

Oreyn stood in front of her, close enough to be intimidating but not frightening. He commanded Jesi's attention with his presence, standing there like some sort of god. She kept her eyes focused on her letter, pretending to be rereading it. This was her little revenge for his earlier behavior - dragging her like a child away from the Altmer - insulting his status. Jesi knew something like that would get under his nails because, frankly, she knew his type. And his type were all the same.

He cleared his throat and tapped his foot, and she dipped her quill in the ink pot, and started to write again. She wondered how long it would be until he cracked and said something. She wondered how long she could pretend not to notice him without infuriating him to the degree of rash actions or possibly even violence.

Jes knew he would not touch her, not after their little, _erm, '_run in' earlier. Doing so would just give her an excuse to attack him. She wouldn't, attack him that is, for touching her. Mostly it was an empty threat. But she could tell how unsure he was about Jesi and her little threats. He seemed like the kind of man that liked to categorize people in to specific little files. That was his _type _after all. she was on the last paragraph of her letter, then she was signing her signature, then . . .

"That is enough." Oreyn growled. Jesi looked up, the picture of sweet innocents. Or she hoped.

"What are you- give that back," she said as he snatched away her letter. "By the Nine, give that back, you barbarian."

He gestured to the torch above her head. "You cannot cast spells in here." He said broadly.

Jesi spluttered, "How does that make sense? It- that's absolutely ridiculous."

"It is the rule." He shrugged.

"But- but why?"

He grinned, "This is the _Fighters _Guild. You can practice your magic somewhere else."

Jesi glared. "That wasn't practice, darling, that was practicality. It would take me longer to light it by hand, and I need to get this letter sent."

"Then in the future, I suggest you start your letters sooner. Then you will be able to take that extra two minutes." He said.

She glared. "Ridiculous. You are being childish."

His voice dropped to a Dark Elf growl, "Too damn bad. It's the rule."

"Since when?" Jesi challenged.

He leaned in close to me, "Since now." He said. "Honestly, do you _want _everyone to hate you?"

"The opinions of thugs do not matter to me," she stated brusquely.

His eyebrows came together. "You honestly believe that we are all beneath you, don't you?" He shook his head carefully. "If I were you, I would reform your opinions. We may not be mages, but most of us can cast spells. We are not savages. You know," he said, switching his tone, "the more you flaunt your skill the more the fighters will hate you. They dispise you because you use it as a crutch, not because you have it. Magic isn't as rare as the University has led you to believe."

"Let me see you make that table disappear then," she said. "No? I think you should lay off the ridiculous claims, barbarian fetcher."

He snorted, turning back around. "You don't seem to realize how little your childish insults really matter, mage. Most of us don't care whether or not a stuck-up harlot with cheap parlor tricks likes us or not, and you'd do best to remember that."

"How dare you!" she yelled. "How dare you insult me?"

"Because you can insult me, but I'm not allowed to retaliate?" He laughed a humorless chuckle. "Frankly, you don't strike me as the typical mage either. So far, I think I've scraped gunk off my boot smarter than you."

Jesi sneered, "I pity the men that trust you to cover their backs. Though, I suppose my pity is in vain, as they're likely already dead." His eyes widened minimally, and she could tell that she had struck a sore spot. "Perhaps I should warn the survivors for you?"

He turned his back on her, taking a few steps forward.

"Poor thing, did I pull your heartstrings?" Jesi gushed, "Poor, poor baby." He looked like he was close to actually resorting to violence, he was so angry. If Jesi had been born with any common sense she would have backed down. "Hit me," she said, "Go on, I know you want to."

He spun around, his face turned from flushed and angry to inexpressive and cold in an instant. "You really don't know when to stop, do you? It's a wonder you're still alive." He turned away again and took a few steps, stopped, seemed to hesitate, and then turned back around. He dug around in his pocket for a moment, pulling something out that he clenched in his fist. He tossed it to her. "Here. I don't hit women." And then he walked out of the big guild double doors.

Whatever it was that he'd tossed Jesi was warm and hard, probably metal. She opened my right hand, looking at it cradled in her fist. It was a single gold septim. Why had he given her a coin? Did he really think she needed it? Was he- Oh gods, did he think that she was putting on some sort of show?

The fetcher. Well, fine, if he wanted to go around giving away his septims she would not argue. Jesi dropped the little coin into her pocket, and then gathered up her letter, ink and quill. She quickly scrawled her name at the bottom, folded it, and then headed out the door. She would make sure to stay well away from Modryn Oreyn fro the rest of the day.

* * *

Posted: December 28, 2009

Edited: December 29, 2009


	4. The Original Chapter Three

**Chapter Four: The Original Chapter Three**

Eleven days later little had changed other than the length of her fingernails. Jesi woke up every morning to the sound of silence in the Grey Mare, as it was usually too early for the breakfast crowd and too late for even the most night-loving of drunkards. She dressed in one of her three identical sets of robes, and then headed downstairs, careful to avoid creaky boards or steps. She would buy a simple breakfast from Emfrid, and then talk with her while she ate. Emfrid – as it turned out – was wonderful company. Not only did she have the brain capacity to more than uphold her end of the conversation, but she knew _everything _about Chorrol and its residents. Plus, she was just a simple friend. She wasn't afraid to argue with Jesi – as so many of the men and women at the University had become – and Jesi found that her arguments weren't annoying either. At least, as unannoying as an argument could be.

After breakfast and a chat, she would check to see if a letter from Ma had arrived. When it hadn't she would take a walk for exactly one hour, just long enough to see the sun rise over the walls of Chorrol. She was ritualistic, like woman possessed. She would pass Earana after the sun was fully up and exchange a few passing insults, in which the woman would say something like, 'Greetings, little one,' or, 'Be a dear, and orbit in a wider radius around me. Assuming you know what a 'radius' and an 'orbit' are.' Jesi would reply with some threat, or else a few choice swear words along with the pronoun 'you'. On good days she cooked up some witty comeback, like, 'I would, but your gravitational pull is off-balance.' One day Earana did nothing but glare at Jesi, so she glared back, putting every ounce of loathing she could muster into the look.

After the daily encounter with Earana, Jesi would continue into the Mages Guild where she greeted Teekeeus, and then picked up a book to read, or else bartered with Angalmo over the price of his potions. Sometimes she would even take a trip down into the basement and speak with Contumeliorus Florius, whose corny sense of humor she found rather refreshing. She spent exactly three hours and thirty-three minutes with her colleagues – though she didn't delude herself completely; each and every one of them ranked lower than she – and then Jesi would say her goodbyes and walk to the Fighters Guild, arriving at precisely ten forty-five.

While she was there she would sit in a corner, now known as 'that bloody mage's spot' by the barbarians. Jesi would have replied, but insulting such inferior beasts was far beneath her. She liked to think so, anyways. She wrote letters of her progress to Hannibal Traven every three days. Sometimes, they contained only a few sentences, and other times they were several pages in length. She wanted to do her job thoroughly, however much she despised it. She was counting on the promotion to Warlock he had dangled over her head. She would depart and trek back to the Grey Mare at nine fifteen, having spent all the time she could bare in the company of the barbarians by then. She would eat dinner, and head to her bedroom after another chant with Emfrid. Though, when they spoke in the evenings their dialogue was always cut decidedly short due to Emfrid's obligation to her other patrons. All in all, Jesi's day was the epitome of scheduled perfection. She had it down to an art . . . no, a science.

Why then, was today different?

For starters, she woke up two hours later than normal. Just that threw her off severely. Then, Emfrid was out of apples, her breakfast of choice. Earana was missing altogether when she ambled up to the Great Oak, already having to skip her usual walk to make up for the previous loss of time. Teekeeus did not say his usual, "Greetings, associate," and instead dared to greet her by means of a, "Lovely day today, isn't it Jesi?" the fetcher. After an hour into 'The Book of Daedra', she realized that she had completely _forgotten _to check the Black Horse Courier outpost for any letters.

She had uprooted herself and rushed down to the Chorrol outpost hurriedly. _I must be a sight right now, _she thought as she ran down the road, snorting at what the residents of Chorrol must see: a disgruntled Redguard mage running down the street. Upon entering the building, Jesi was informed that not one, but two letters had arrived for her by a grumpy Bosmer. Just then, Jesi like showing the Bosmer just how grumpy _she_ was.

After rushing back to Great Oak Place she tumbled through the doors to the Fighters Guild and headed to her corner. She didn't even notice the sneers of an Imperial woman as she shoved past her. Jesi realized only too late that she had arrived an hour _early. _With an irritated _huff _shefell into her chair in a lump of angry Redguard/Altmeri bristles.

She lit the candle – she'd abandoned the torch and merely bought her own means of light after three tries at lighting the torch manually – next to her via an extremely low-level fire spell, murmured so soft that none of the barbarians could hear it. After Oreyn had told her 'no more magic' they seemed to get so fussy when she even took out a _potion. _Didn't they know that boredom was a possibility when one was stuck in such dull confines? Though, that may have been because they were all rooting for her disembowelment and death, or otherwise immediate doom. Was no one on her team?

Pulling out the two letters from her deep pockets, Jesi considered them side-by-side. One carried the Universities official seal, the other was pasted shut with excess candle wax. One was comprised of white paper, neatly folded and not bent at all, the other from the cheapest for of parchment, flakes of bark clearly visible in it, though the folds equally as neat.

She slipped her thumb under the rim of the latter letter, breaking the homespun wax and brushing aside the cream-colored flakes. Inside, her mother's familiar handwriting greeted her. It was slanted to the left, not right, because Ma was left-handed.

_To My Darling, _

_I don't like this "reassigned" business. Can the Arch-Mage really just push you around like that? I miss you already, though I know it is silly to feel such, I never saw you when you were in the city anyway. I told Umbacano about your new residence and the reason behind it ~ you know how he is so interested in you ~ and he is of the same opinion as you; that the Fighters Guild men are uncivilized. You know, your Redguard ancestors were all warriors, from my father back; perhaps you should broaden your horizons?_

_I won't nag you though, that's why children leave home, yes? Oh dear, I'm feeling sad again. Even though you are a mage and make more money in a day than I do all year you'll always be my little baby, I love you. I miss you. _

_I baked a small batch of bread yesterday. It was from a recipe from this Imperial lady's family that I've been being friendly with. The recipe called for Cyrodiilic brandy, can you believe that? I was skeptical at first, but when the batch came out it was absolutely . . . explosive! I would have sent you some, but I know how picky an eater you are, and I might have eaten it all anyway. Do you want her to mail you some food? I could make those crumpets that you like-_

Jesi jerked her head up, unable to keep reading due to the fact that some female beast had ripped the letter from Jesi's hands, and was now scanning it with her own eyes. "To my darling," she mocked in a high pitched tone. She paused a moment, then said, "You'll always be my little baby." She laughed. "Isn't that sweet, Lum?" She said to a shirtless orc next to her.

The orc laughed unkindly, moving to the side so as to block any escape.

The woman moved forward, cocking her head hips left. When the woman ripped Jesi's letter in half, Jesi stood. She put her hand over the woman's and said "Give it here."

She sneered, "Why would I do that?" Giggling, she halved the halves.

"Give me my letter." Jesi commanded. _Gods above, today is not my day._

The woman leaned in really close, breathing in her face. "No." Then she backed up abruptly, giving Jesi a hard shove. She toppled back against the wall, knocking over her table. She righted herself, breathing deeply. The woman was trying to goad her into using magic so that Oreyn would throw her out, she just knew it.

"Let's not resort to such barbaric levels," Jesi said. "We can resolve this qualm civilly, yes?"

The woman giggled, barring her teeth. "No." And she jumped back like a jack rabbit. She hopped forward a little. She was wearing a mixture of fur and leather armor, and there was iron short-sword at her hip. She pushed Jesi again, but this time she was ready. She braced herself, only staggering slightly.

"Is this really necessary?" Jesi asked. "Just give her my letter and I will leave." She couldn't best the woman in a brawl, and she knew that's what the woman wanted. She either wanted Jesi to use magic against her and get thrown out by Oreyn . . . Or- or she wanted her to take a swing at her. She wanted an excuse to pound Jesi into a pulp. _Damn her, _Jesi thought, _we've never even met._

The woman never replied, but instead slapped Jesi lightly across the face, almost playfully. It didn't really hurt too badly, but still made her angry. "Stop," She said.

She cooed at Jesi, "_Aww. _What, you completely helpless without your magic?"

Turning with the full intention of leaving, Jesi found that the orc, Lum, was in the way. "Move, please." She said.

He shook his head, laughing. "Don't worry, Amalia ain't gonna hurt ye." She stared at him with disbelief, and then turned back to the woman, Amalia.

"Look, I don't want to fight you, understand?" She said it real slowly so that Amalia could comprehend her.

"Yeah, I understand you." She said with a giggle. "Doesn't mean nothin' though."

Jesi had her brows knitted together, trying to think what to do. Why did everything with these barbarians have to be so damn stressful? She had her brows knitted together, when Amalia grabbed Jesi by the hair and slammed her fist into Jesi's right cheekbone. Jesi could only assume Amalia missed, though, by the scowl on her fine Imperial features.

She didn't bother to let go of Jesi, but hit her again in the same place. Amalia pulled her forward, smashing her head repeatedly against the round table. She fought, but Jesi was no warrior. She flailed her arms around, hoping that she would hit the other woman somehow. She doubled over in pain after Amalia hit her in the gut with her fist. She used that advantage to drag Jesi to the ground, straddling her there. Amalia started to throw punch after punch at her, either to Jesi's stomach or face. She thrashed on the ground, bucking and trying to dislodge the more experienced woman.

She got one hand free and scrabbled at Amalia's fur-coated thigh, trying to get the bigger woman off her. She was cooing in Jesi's ear, punching her chest. Jesi thrust her hips up, and in her euphoria Amalia lurched forward. Jesi slipped away, standing up. Amalia was up to, though, lunging for her again.

Jesi made, perhaps, one of the biggest mistakes she had in a long while and turned her back on Amalia. She was trying to shove past the orc, Lum, when Amalia hooked her arm around Jesi's neck and pulled her backwards. She had Jesi's head in the crook of her arm, choking off her air. She tried to elbow the more powerful in the ribs, bit it didn't work. "Bitch mage," Amalia said. "You aren't welcome."

_Obviously,_ shethought. She choked Jesi a little tighter, and then shoved her to the ground. Again, Amalia straddled her. She spat all over Jesi's face, pulling something out of her boot. A second later Jesi realized what it was-

-just as it was cutting through the flesh on her collar bone. She yelled, bucking Amalia off. Now she noticed that more people had gathered around. Why didn't they do something? Sure, they could hate her, but watch while some one killed her? Wasn't that a bit . . . low? Amalia giggled, her head inches from Jesi's. She brought her knife up to Jesi's face; bring it closer . . . closer . . .

She jerked her body to the side suddenly, and the blade that was about to dig into her eye missed, instead grazing a gash across the bridge of Jesi's nose and onto her cheekbone. Amalia swayed, but remained atop her. She clamped a hand down over her mouth to prevent Jesi from yelling or . . . or casting a spell.

She could've grinned as she thought of the most appropriate one to cast. She was rather good at the school of destruction, but she didn't want to kill Amalia. If Jesi could just get her off her she would be able to get out. Screw Oreyn and his 'no spell casting' hubbub, she was being bloody attacked!

"Amalia," she heard Lum say. He sounded a little worried. "Amalia, you said you weren't gonna hurt her too bad."

"Shut up," Amalia screeched at the orc as she hit her in the shoulder with the hilt of her dagger. She had her arms pinned with her knees in such a way that it was almost painful to move. She let go of her for a second, but that was all she needed.

Jesi murmured a telekinesis spell, aiming it at the big round table – she noticed vaguely that it was stained, on the edge, with fresh blood – which tipped over, falling on both Amalia and she. Though, Amalia took most the weight, as she was on top. She scrambled out from under her while Amalia was occupied, moving the table away as she did so. Freeing her aggressor as well, unfortunately.

Amalia stood up, her dagger gone and in its place her sword. Jesi backed away, calling a low level paralysis spell to her lips. She was just about to aim it at Amalia when someone interrupted the fight. Pushing through the six people come to watch the fight was Modryn Oreyn, his mace in his hand.

"That is enough." He snarled. "Get back, all of you."

The Guild associates backed up. She took a good look at them. They were all behind Lum, who had a guilty expression on his green face. Of the five others she recognized only two, a woman named Sabine Laul and a man named Ortheus.

"Sheathe your sword, Amalia." Oreyn growled. She did so sullenly.

"Modryn, the mage attacked me. She was using magic and was going to kill me." She said.

Oreyn's expression didn't change except for, it was possible, to become even angrier. "Do not lie. Mage, come." Jesi resented being called like a dog, but stepped toward him all the same. She walked out the door, trying to wipe away the blood from her head. Oh gods, what if she bled out? "Amalia, be here when I get back." He said, before closing the door behind Jesi.

He handed her a pocket handkerchief, which she took gratefully. "I- I'm bleeding." she said stupidly.

Oreyn nodded. "I'll help you clean up. Where are you staying?"

"Grey Mare," she said after a moment of thought.

He nodded again. They walked down to the Grey Mare in silence. Well, silence between the two of_ them_ anyway. She could hear people muttering when they passed through Great Oak Place. Above the mutters of the stupid farmers she heard Earana laugh loudly. Wench.

Oreyn opened the Grey Mare's door for Jesi. By then she had most of the blood off her face, or, she thought she did anyway. Maybe it had just dried. Anyway, she stepped through the threshold, heading straight up for her room. Emfrid put a hand on her shoulder, and Jesi looked up into her face.

"What happened?" She asked. Her expression was worried.

Oreyn answered before she could. "There was a minor brawl in the Guild, and Briar here got the worst of it." Jesi wanted to argue and tell Emfrid what really happened, but she was feeling lightheaded, and Oreyn had already put a hand on her shoulder and begun to lead her up the stairs.

"If you need anything just . . ." she heard Emfrid calling in there wake.

Jesi felt like a child as she sat down on her bed, kicking the post while Oreyn moving about in her small room. He said, "Wait here, I am going to get a healing potion." He seemed to hesitate for a moment, "Unless you . . . can you heal it yourself?"

Jesi dropped her head, "No," she mumbled, ashamed. It was the one thing she couldn't do. Every time she tried to heal anything it always turned out worse. She stopped trying when she had actually _killed _an injured rabbit she had once found.

He was gone and back before she knew it, pouring the runny fuchsia liquid of the potion onto a fresh handkerchief. "You aren't bleeding anywhere but your face and neck, are you?" He asked.

Jesi shook her head in a 'no', and stood still. "I feel dizzy," she enlightened him.

He nodded, "Head wounds always bleed a lot. You should probably take it easy for a while." He then snorted.

"What's scho funny?" she asked, slurring her words slightly. Damn, she felt like she had been recently drugged. She didn't think she'd ever lost much blood before at all. She was a relatively cautious kid, and all her Mages Guild assignments had been fairly low-key. No need for major injuries.

"Nothing." He dismissed her question. He dabbed at the gash across the bridge of her nose and cheek carefully. "Lucky this one didn't go into your eye." He commented.

Jesi scowled. "Yeah, real damn lucky." He looked at her curiously, but otherwise made no reply. A moment later she spoke again. "I didn't use magic, not until she was going to kill me." She said. For some reason it mattered that he understand and know _exactly _what happened.

He arched a black brow. "I know that."

"You do?"

"Yes. I'm not stupid. We've had problems from Amalia before, the little-" he cut himself off, glancing into her eyes for a moment. "Well, we've had problems before." He paused, and then continued carefully. "I suppose it would be too much to ask you not to report this to your superiors."

"Yes, it would," she said.

"I see," he said. "I think you're done here." He stood, setting the potion on the dresser. "I'll leave this here for you, know need to repay me." And then he walked out of the room. She sighed, almost feeling in the wrong. But this was something worthy of Traven's note, that the barbarians couldn't control their temper, and are _prejudiced _against mages.

Slowly, she lay down on her bed. It wasn't time to sleep, but she was tired. _My schedule has already been ruined; she _thought satirically, _why not screw it up some more? _Shedrifted off to sleep with that thought.

**…**

Jesi woke up much later.

The window was open, icy wind from the outside lifting the drapes and rustling the parchment in her room. She rolled out of bed, her robe askew and hanging half open – she'd never changed, apparently – and closed the window securely. Straightening her robe, she felt something in her left pocket. She dug her hand in, pulling out the folded up letter from the Arcane University.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust; she'd never even opened it yesterday. Putting it on her bed, Jesi reached deeper into her pocket because there was still something in it.

Her fist closed on a small, cold, hard object. Pulling it out, she examined it. A septim sat in her palm, shining and pristine. Her brows knitted together as she remembered how, exactly, she had obtained the coin. It was from the second day of her time in Chorrol. Oreyn had given it to her after their shouting match, the fetcher. She must've forgotten about it after storing it away in her pocket. She still didn't have the slightest clue as to _why _he'd tossed it to her in the first place.

With a sigh, she tucked it into 'Five Songs of King Wulfharth' where it could be safe. Why she wanted it to be safe, she will likely never know.

Sitting on her bed, she placed the University letter on her lap and stared at it. She felt at peace in the night. Not a surprise. Ma said she was always so happy when it was dark because she was born in the middle of the night. Ma was full of silly, pointless things like that. Rumors, wives tails, whatever, Ma knew it.

Taking a deep breath, she broke the seal of the letter. Casting a light spell, Jesi read the letter through. Her expression grew darker and darker as she progressed through the letter.

Disbelieving, she read it again. She scanned the note with her eyes three more times, trying to look for some flaw or- or problem. Maybe it was a joke? Traven couldn't be serious. He just- this was outrageous. To have a presence in their main guild hall was one thing, but this? This was ridiculous. It wasn't even- he didn't even have a good reason.

_Damn you Traven, why couldn't you have picked someone _else _to represent you? _The thought flitted through her mind before she picked up her pillow and hurled it at the wall opposite her.

* * *

Posted: December 28, 2009

Edited: December 29, 2009


	5. Which Mission Will It Be, Then?

Try not to hate me, guys. I switched to 3rd person – and yes, I've edited the previous chapters to 3rd – because, frankly, I am just better at it. When I think 1st I think teenagers and angst crap. I think present or future time, not dragons and castles and mages (oh my!) I dunno, it just wasn't turning out particularly. My description sucked, and the dialogue sounded like little kids fighting over a cookie (as someone already pointed out) I went back and changed some dialogue, but there is not need to read it. Nothing major has been changed. So, anyway, tell me, was this better? Worse? Same?

* * *

**Chapter Five: Which Mission Will It Be, Then? **

Who did Traven think he was, Akatosh? Ordering her about like she lived to bloody amuse him, like she was some sort of dog_. Because I didn't have enough to do, huh, Traven? Dealing with these imbeciles on a daily basis wasn't already bad enough, no; you need more data, huh? _Jesi just- she just-

Could.

Not.

Believe.

It.

Why, _Oh_ why, couldn't he have picked someone else to represent him? Someone with more battle experience, more stupidity, more- more Fighters Guild qualities! Why did it have to be her, the epitome of cultured civilization and powerful arcane-ness? How come she, the one person that would loathe every moment spent in this rag town, had to be the one stuck there? And not only stuck there, but now forced to actually accompany these Fighters Guild woo-hoos on a _contracted mission_? Explain to Jesi how any of that made sense, please.

And now, well, now she had to suffer the complete and most likely permanent indignation of _asking _not Donton, but _Oreyn_ if she could tag along with one of their associates like some sort of personal fan? She was not a bloody kid to be guided about! _Oh, the indignation, the humiliation._

Jesi stormed out of the Grey Mare the morning after her little brawl. Closing the door behind her, she past the monumental masonry in the front of Chorrol. If she'd been in less of a rage she would have noted how the statue had become less and less barbaric as time went by, and more artistic and cultural.

She ignored Earana all together, thinking with satire that her schedule had been ruined for the second day in a row. She blamed it all on Traven. He could be an absolute sweetheart of an old man at times, she knew, but just then . . . well. She pushed through the doors into the Fighters Guild, and commenced her less than fruitful search for Oreyn.

After about ten minutes of looking, Jesi found him in the basement, training with another man from the guild. She stayed in the stairwell area, lurking unseen but watching. They were in the sunken in designated practice area, both bare and unarmored other than a pair of slacks around their hips, and in the midst of hand-to-had combat exercises. No one noticed Jesi, not even Sabine Laul who was at her usual post by her forge. Jesi felt like some sort of assassin, watching unseen from behind the corner.

Oreyn threw a right-handed punch, hitting the other man squarely in his waiting forearms. Then they switched, the other man punching and Oreyn blocking. Oreyn held up his hand to stop, and then said something that I didn't catch – Sabine was pounding away on her forge – but the other man nodded in agreement.

They switched stances, backing up and circling each other. The other man – who looked like a Nord – moved in and started throwing punches. He was bigger than Oreyn by about a head, but Oreyn seemed to be faster. Not that Jesi even pretended to know anything about combat, it was just an observation. Oreyn dodged most of the hits, or else blocked them. He seemed to be biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment. Where the Nord looked rushed and ready to kill, Oreyn looked completely calm, even bored.

Then, out of nowhere, he grabbed the Nord's forearm, pulling him forward. Oreyn spun around behind him, planting a kick to the small of his back. The Nord toppled forward and Oreyn moved up behind him. He placed a bare foot on the Nord's chest.

The torchlight cast a warm glow about the windowless room, clashing with Oreyn's purple shoulders as he pronounced, "Dead," digging his heel into the Nord's collar just a little further. Jesi noticed that both men were breathing hard and had a fine sheen of sweat coating their faces and bare chests. The Nord got up, scowling. But where his opponent scowled, Oreyn had a foolish grin on his face. He looked . . . _triumphant. _

Jesi stepped into the basement fully, clapping her hands together a few times to get their attention. Oreyn either didn't notice her or just ignored her, she suspected the latter. The Nord looked up, however, wiping sweat from his face with his equally wet wrist. "Hello, girlie," He said with a good-tempered smile. Jesi spared him a return smile, but turned her attention to Oreyn almost immediately thereafter.

He was toweling off his face and shoulders with what looked like a plain brown tunic. He walked over to her, a petulant expression already taking over his features. "Is there something you require?"

"_Oh_, gosh, I guess not. Yeah, you're contentious look has already discouraged me." Sarcasm practically dripped out of Jesi's mouth, landing on the comment itself right there. "And you were so nice yesterday . . ." She mused, more to annoy him than anything else.

"_Yesterday, _you were nearly delusional from blood loss. It was quite pleasant, actually. _Today, _you are back to your unbearable norm."

Jesi resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. By the Nine, they were arguing like children. How had she sunken so low? She pulled Traven's letter containing his ridiculous request out of her pocket and thrust it at Oreyn, determined to stick to business from then on. "Read the last two paragraphs."

He took it from her delicately, careful not to touch Jesi's hand. Did he think she was diseased or something? He unfolded the parchment deftly, a curious expression on his face. Her eyes wandered downwards while he scanned the page. _He's not actually that bad looking, _she mused. _Muscular, that's one thing I can be certain of. Wonder if Modryn has a woman . . . _She caught herself there. Not only for the weird feeling squirming around in her gut at the mental image of Oreyn kissing some pretty woman, but also for calling him by his _first name. _By the Nine, Jesi did not call her superiors by there first names. _My enemies either; he's an enemy, in no way my superior_, she corrected. He- Jesi felt rather confused.

During her thoughts he'd finished reading, and, to Jesi's excruciating embarrassment, had caught her just _staring _at his stomach. Just above his navel, to be exact. "What is it you're looking at, mage?" he asked sternly. She couldn't keep a blush from creeping over her face when Jesi looked up to meet his eyes. He couldn't read her thoughts but . . . she'd just be glad she had a private mind.

"There is a weird looking mole there," Jesi said to cover for her absence of mind. It was true enough; he _did _have this weird patch of darker colored skin about the size of a misshapen septim on his ribs. "It could be carcinogenic," she added insightfully.

"That would be my birthmark." He said.

_Oh drat!_ "Yes, well, that is beside the point."

He looked at Jesi like she was speaking a foreign language. "Then what, pray tell, is the point?"

"The letter of course," Jesi said matter-of-factly, riding off hot air. "I need to-"

"Yes, I can read." He cut her off. "But we don't have any contracts active in Chorrol, right now."

Her face fell. She was so hoping this could be over and done with quickly and easily. Actually, Jesi was hoping she could accompany some novice on a simple mission, something like, _oh, _rat extermination. Something really straightforward. "Are you sure? Nothing?"

He looked past her, seemingly in thought. "There is something, but I'd rather not send you along to get in the way."

"I won't be a problem."

He let out a bark of laughter at this. "You're a problem just standing in front of me, mage." He sobered up immediately, though. "Can you handle your own in a fight? I read the report on you from Traven, it said you were proficient in the school of destruction, but-"

"I'm _much _more than proficient," Jesi said hotly. She hated the idea of Modryn reading her report. All mages had to fill one out upon entering the University. That thing had her whole life on it, but perhaps Traven had been kind and only sent the basics to the Fighters Guild

"Do you have any experience other than practice with your colleagues?"

"I made it here alone, didn't I?"

He gave Jesi a skeptical once-over. "Wait in here; I have to speak with an associate." Without giving her a chance to argue, he slipped away and up the stairs, pulling on that tan tunic and hopping into a pair of leather boots she hadn't even seen him grab as he went.

She considered following him up the stairs, thinking that she could head to her usual spot, but decided against it. She still remembered the fight yesterday, and didn't particularly want to put herself in a vulnerable position. She subconsciously brought a hand up to stroke the long scab running diagonally across her face, then the large bruises and blood-blisters scattered around her forehead and in her hair. Jesi winced as her hand brushed over a particularly tender one. _Egh, that bitch would pay. _No, she definitely didn't want to put herself in a vulnerable position just yet.

Jesi turned to the Nord that was now wiping a rag across his chest. It came away a darker shade of brown. He looked up at her after he'd pulled his tunic over his head. She smiled; why not socialize while she waited? She walked over and leaned on a table covered in quivers, bows, daggers, swords, hammers . . . all sorts of weaponry. It was a wonder she had enough room to plant her elbows.

"He doesn't like me to much," Jesi confided in the Nord. "What is your name?" She surprised herself there; she hadn't realized she was going to ask before the words slipped from her mouth. She hadn't known she cared, frankly.

"Ganr." He said gruffly. "And I wouldn't be so sure 'bout that."

Jesi raised one eyebrow. "Oh? I think we both know he dislikes me. He makes it abundantly obvious."

"Ye aren't makin' yer dislike for him very discrete either," Ganr said. "In fact, from where I'm stanin', it's lookin' like yer looking for trouble."

"Looking for trouble? That is ridiculous. Never mind, I may not be nice to Oreyn but-"

"But? Girlie?"

"Stop calling me that. I am not a child," Jesi snapped, feeling childish.

Ganr smiled triumphantly. "This is exactly what I'm talkin' about. Ye need to lay yer needles on their sides, stop pokin' people where they ain't needin' to be poked." He winked.

Her forehead crumpled as she thought. "I am not looking for trouble." She said at last.

Ganr snorted. "That all you can say? Hey, I'm not attacking ye, Girlie, I'm just pointing out the obvious. I'm too old to be involved in this stupidity."

"You're not that old." Jesi countered. He looked about old enough to be her father, not too bad.

He chuckled. "You're not the only half breed around, Girlie."

Jesi blinked. "You- you're half mer?"

Another chuckle. "Bloody Bosmer. Thank the nine I got most of my characteristics from my Pa, otherwise I'd be a short little man. I am eighty years old."

"Have- have you been in the Fighters Guild for that long?" Jesi asked.

"Not eighty years. I had to grow up at some point. Naw, at first I was doin' odd jobs. _Then _I came here, when I was about thirty. So I been Fighters Guild through and through for five decades, give or take a few years."

Jesi looked at him, wide eyed. "And you never got, you know, _bored_?"

"Naw, it's pretty interesting here, if you look at it the right way."

She would have continued speaking to him, but Oreyn had returned with another man at his heels. The knew man was pale and short; a Breton.

"Okay, okay," Oreyn said to the man. "You talk to her. If you want to bring her along, go ahead, but don't let her coerce you into it. Because she _will _try too."

Jesi ignored Oreyn's comment, fetcher, and held her hand out to the new man. "Hello, my name is Jesi Briar."

He nodded pleasantly, "Merard Sette." He took her hand, shaking it firmly. Oreyn walked away, picking up a sword and saying something to Ganr. "Nice to meet you." Jesi could tell what he wanted to say was, 'nice to finally meet our biggest problem,' but withheld.

He let go of her hand, still smiling pleasantly. "Oreyn told me about your predicament." Merard said. Jesi was intrigued to note he was another older Fighters Guild member, probably around his forties. "Let's talk about the mission I'm willing to take you on . . ."

* * *

Posted: December 29, 2009


	6. Little Girl Big Girl

Let us pretend that dear Modryn's house is slightly bigger than the in-game version. How about it has two more bedrooms, on he sleeps in and the other for his armor and other stuff. Or that _was _for his armor and other stuff, as you'll figure out after reading. Maybe I should start posting my little notes at the end of the chapter . . . Oh well. Enjoy the chapter and don't forget to think of me when you reach the end. Think of it as an, erm, New Year present! This is mine to you.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Little Girl/Big Girl  
**

"Let me get this straight," Jesi said quietly, matching Merard's equally secretive tone. "We are going to a cave," she paused for recognition. When he nodded she continued. "With the guild-masters son." Another pause; another nod. "But she isn't to know."

"Precisely." He said. "Since she lost her eldest, she has been overly protective of her youngest. He has a future ahead of him if we can just get his confidence up."

"And we are leaving . . ." She trailed off, giving him a chance to finish the sentence.

"This evening."

"This _evening? _Isn't that- isn't that more dangerous?" Jesi stuttered. Traveling after dark sounded . . . bad.

"Contrary to what everyone seems to thing, no. Night travel is only a danger if one does not know how to go about it properly. As I do, well, it is just easier." Jesi eyed him suspiciously.

"This evening?"

"Yes."

"And Vilena Donton cannot know."

"Correct."

"Okay," Jesi said hesitantly, "Okay. I am going to walk away now, and get ready. Should I bring a weapon or something?"

"Do you know how to use one?" He asked.

"Not really."

"I will get you a dagger. Go get ready. Bring some potions or something." He ordered.

As much as she didn't want to take orders, she left. Outside the air was cool and comforting on her skin. It played with her short hair, lifting the strands up to fondle one minute and blow aside the next. Winter was coming. She could feel it, the fresh sent in the air and the cold coming from Skyrim in the north. Jesi had always loved winter most out of all the seasons. Perhaps it was the way everything just slowed in the winter, the way even people calmed and accepted everything more easily. Perhaps it was something natural and expected because she'd been born in the winter.

Past the stone statue in the middle of Chorrol she walked, her nostrils flared to catch every scent of the changing season. Jesi eyed the statue calculatingly, it was actually rather pretty. There was something . . . Humble about it. Yes, that was the word.

Then she saw something out of the corner of her vision that stopped her in her tracks. Two Dunmer people, one childlike and feminine and the other large and masculine. One was Oreyn. Jesi shrank back against the wall of Fire and Steel, watching for the second time that day like some sort of assassin or criminal, plastered in the shadows.

The little girl small, about six years old, with long dark hair and elegant features. Oreyn stood over her, looking the same as he always did. He was a little sweaty, and his nose looked tinted pink. Maybe the cold had done that. The little girl reached up for him, and Oreyn did as she wanted; sweeping her up in his arms and hugging her there, her small feet dangling down. He laughed, a sound that was full of relief that Jesi heard clearly, even from her spot across the road. The little girl hugged him back vigorously, her own noises caught between a laugh and a sob. An Imperial woman watched the two, much like Jesi herself, one hand around the muzzle of a horse, and the other holding a large sack bag.

When Oreyn put the girl down, the woman walked up, handing the bag to him stiffly. Jesi watched them exchange a few words, watched the little girl cling to Oreyn with tiny gloved hands. Watched as the woman turned and led her horse out of Chorrol, watched Oreyn and the child wave her off, Oreyn much less enthusiastic. Watched as the little girl opened her mouth and begin to chatter, listened to the unintelligible words that she caught across the street. She understood that the girls words were spoken in a dialect that she did not know, perhaps something native to Morrowind. Oreyn had a happy smile on his face. With a shock, Jesi realized one of the few genuine smiles she'd ever seen him don, if the only one.

She was hit with another small blow some time later as she entered the Grey Mare, waving her greetings to Emfrid as she contemplated what it meant for Oreyn to be greeting a child in the front of town. What it meant that the little girl had brightly similar features to him, from the determined set of her little mouth, to the flash of something . . . more . . . in her eyes. She must be his child.

Shaking her head as she climbed the stairs, Jesi mentally kicked herself for not realizing this sooner. Why else would Oreyn have looked so undeniably happy to see the girl? Of course, this raised many questions that Jesi was only too keen to find the answers too. Was the Imperial the mother of his child? Did she really come from Morrowind? If so, then did that mean Oreyn himself was native to Morrowind? And, why had he left his little girl back there, if he loved her as much as it would appear?

Jesi shook her head again and pushed the thoughts out of her mind. As much as she wanted the dirt on Oreyn, for he was nothing but rude to her, she was sure that she _didn't _want the dirt in this particular subject. She wanted to believe that the child was happy and that her Da loved her, even if he was a cruel, strange man with few emotions and a seemingly incapacity for niceties. _I am going to forget this encounter, _Jesi thought, _so that I will not bring it up if Oreyn and I have another row. I am not going to throw any more low blows. And now I am going to think of my soon to come trip, because it is important. Much more important that gossip on Oreyn. _

And, low and behold, Jesi did.

She'd decided on the walk over that wearing an ankle length robe wouldn't do for trekking around in the middle of the night. She dug through her drawers, knowing she _had _packed some pants and a loose shirt. She could protect herself with magic, so she would not bother with armor.

_Ah, _there. She pulled out the green felt trousers she'd stowed just in case. A little more digging in her cabinet found her holding a button-up cream colored shirt in front of her, appraising it. She stripped out of her robes and donned her scrounged outfit. All she needed were some proper shoes, as the buckled slippers she wore normally would wear out. Sighing, she slipped them on, grabbed her coin purse, and exited the Grey Mare.

She made her way to Northern Goods and Trade, purchasing a pair of boots that looked appropriate. Jesi sat down right there in the shop and laced the fur boots on, folding her pants neatly under them. The Argonian trader watched her curiously, but otherwise made no remark to her odd behavior. Frankly, Jesi couldn't find it in herself to care what anyone thought. Already her nerves were getting the best of her; she had no experience on the field. Though she'd be damned if she admitted her worry to anyone. She would be damned.

**...**

Modryn Oreyn scratched the back of his neck, watching his daughters snoop around his modest home. She smiled up at him, her face – a miniature version of his – vibrant with happiness. In that moment he lost all misgivings about taking his estranged child into his care, about what it would mean to tend to something so dependent on him. He was overwhelmed by a love he had never, _ever _felt before. A fierce pride in what was his, her, and a equally fierce determination to defend her. He would provide for his little daughter, would bring her up strong and well.

"Da," she said calmly, "can we light a fire?" Modryn laughed with relief. For a moment he'd been worried she would start to cry again, or else be angry with him. Which was completely unreasonable, for what did it matter if she was angry? And what would she be angry about?

He bent down, resting his weight on his knees as he stacked the wood he always kept close at hand in the fireplace. Luveni watched him, her eyes wide as she took in his movements. After he was satisfied with the arrangement of the wood, he lit it with a low level flame spell, mumbled into his chin. Humor flashed bright in his memory when he thought of the irony of this, how he had forbidden the pesky mage to use fire even to light a candle. There was no particular reason to the command, other than two of the guild members, who happened to be in the room at the time, had a strong _fear _of magic ans spells all together. He suspected that many of their recruits were people with bad experiences regarding magic.

He hadn't anticipated the mage's reaction to his command. The fight that followed was one of the lowest points in his life. Even now, he could not believe the atrocious why he'd acted. He had been so . . . immature, so volatile. He had provoked her, but in the end it was he who'd completely lost his temper.

That was the mage: infuriating. Everything about her infuriated him, from her controversial appearance to her expressions to the way she walked. Everything she did was wrong, every word she spoke rude and inconsiderate. She reduced him to little more than an animal, an animal with insane urges to kill helpless mages.

And then, not two days ago, she'd gotten hurt. That idiot, Amalia, had taken her own personal frustrations out on the mage. It was low of the woman, and unacceptable how much pleasure she took from pinning the mage against the floor, helpless. Modryn couldn't deny that he'd wanted to hurt the mage on several occasions, but not to that extent. After he'd gotten her out of there, after she'd stopped feeling angry, _that _was when Modryn's hatred for her shrunk. It was silly to think that such an intense dislike – built up over months of arguments and nasty looks – could have been reduced to only a nagging reminder in the back of his mind at the sight of a funny looking Redguard, her face covered in blood and red marks around her neck that would become bruises the next day.

It was illogical to think that the helpless, and slightly humored look she gave him as she'd said, 'I am bleeding'. It wasn't even the words that had touched him, no, it was the way the words were spoken. In her tone he heard a frankness that shocked him, and behind it a slightly hysterical fear. A stupid hysterical fear, nonetheless. She was absolutely fine, but her eyes were wild. Then, later, when he'd cleaned her up she'd been so . . . pleasant. She was like an initiate, completely helpless in his eyes and relying on him for comfort. The way she'd looked at him was just . . . it changed his feelings for her.

_Of course, _he thought bitterly, _nothing has changed. She was still insufferable to me today, still overwhelmingly wrong with everything. I still hate her. _He almost instantly regretted the words – or thoughts, as they were – he did _not _hate her. Hate was not the right word for it. But the word that was appropriate was not there.

Over the months that she'd spent in his guild he had fostered an intense dislike for her, maybe even a small form of hatred. But he'd also come to think of her as part of the guild, however apparent it was that she was most certainly _not _a Fighters Guild associate. He'd taken her under his wing, in a sense, as he did with all initiates. In short, he'd come to care for her. But it was something else, caring wasn't the appropriate term either. Perhaps it was enough to realize that he didn't hate her, enough for one change-resistant elf.

All of these muddling thoughts took about eighty-six seconds of Modryn Oreyn's time, then he turned all of his attention back to his daughter. Luveni had waited patiently while her father apparently took a trip to dreamland, and was smiling upon his return. "Da," she said, "Can I sleep in that room?" She pointed to the only other room in his house, the one that was currently used as a sort of storage room and contained his weaponry and practice mat.

He smiled at her, "Of course. But first we will have to get it cleared out."

She grinned, and he found the joy of his child – the child he hadn't seen since her birth and her mothers death seven years ago – wash over and intoxicate him once more. _I am going soft, _he thought stupidly as he hugged Luveni into his breast, _And I will be the only one to blame. _Her little fingers scrabbled at his back, trying to hug him tighter to herself. He felt her breathing in that quick way that children did, burying her face in his chest and taking in his smell. Her little nose was cold, so cold that he could feel it through his tunic.

He pulled back and eyed her critically. "What did Mavella feed you; roots?"

Luveni giggled, "On the way over we had to ration food. We split it half and half."

Modryn grumbled, thinking the stupid Imperial woman he'd paid for the past seven years to take care of her should have given Luveni a larger portion. "In any case, you are thin. And in need of warmer clothes."

Luveni giggled again, then pointed to a leather cuirass propped up against the wall, a sword next to it. "Can I wear that?"

This time it was Modryn that laughed, and to his delight she laughed along with him. "Oh, maybe someday."

* * *

Posted: January 1, 2010

Woah, that felt weird . . .


	7. Dysfunctional GroupX

I actually had to go back and reread this story, to get a feel for the characters again. Isn't that terrible? It's been FIVE BLOODY MONTHS since I last even looked at this. How dreadful, horrible, calamitous. I don't actually even _own _Oblivion any more, so I hope the characters dont drift _too _far from their in-game personalities. I should just give up now, I suppose. Really. But I trust YOU (yeah, you) to tell me when I screw up. You guys seem to be good at that, I approve. Hurrah. Five months.... Oh, and while rereading I noticed **so many typos, **I am actually a bit embarrassed. I mean, no wonder people get so frustrated with me sometimes! Not ya'all, I think. You seem to be pretty patient, for Internet people. And the worst part is that I prolly wont even fix the mistakes. Garnar. It's typo city back there! Ah! Runaway! *twitch, twitch* five months *twitch, twitch*

**Chapter Seven: Dysfunctional Group-X**

It was most definitely _not _the place of a mage to run around in a gods-forsaken forest looking for a cave at bloody midnight. Not her place. Not her calling, not her damn job. This was not in the assignment Traven originally gave her, dammit!

"I think it's this way." Came a pompous, high voice a little ways to her right. Viranus Donton.

Even to Jesi Merard's frustrated tone was startlingly apparent. "No, it is north. You are pointing to the west, boy."

Viranus was silent. _Ha, bastard beat you, didn't he? _Jesi thought smugly. She'd been in his company for only a little over an hour and was already to the point of ripping out her hair at his overwhelming stupidity. At first, he'd wanted to go back to his _mummy _and talk to her. Then, he'd asked too many question's about why Jesi was coming along with them. And finally, now, he couldn't keep his mouth shut long enough for either her or Merard to think for--

Five.

Bloody.

Minutes.

"Here." Came Merard's low voice a moment later.  
"You found it?" Viranus thundered, giving them away to any lurking creatures. Merard had assured them that there were not any in the area, but still, Jesi jumped at every noise. _But I'm not as bad as that twit, _she assured herself. _She, _at least, had enough sense to keep her voice down.

She started toward Merard, intending to complain about the blundering imbecile currently following behind her. He had his back to her, which Jesi thought exceedingly stupid. She ignored the part of her mind that told her quite bluntly that he just didn't care about her enough to face her, and that he must obviously know that she was behind him and consider her about as threatening as a tooth pick.

One moment she was _crunch, crunch, crunch – _ing away over the brush, the next her toe really hurt and she was plummeting down _into _the brush, face first. "Da--"

A cold steel arm wrapped around her gut, pulling her up just a fraction of a second before she hit the floor. She let out a high pitched noise out of shock, this was not what she was expecting. Jesi turned around to see bloody Viranus smirking at her.

"Did you just squeal?" He muttered in her ear, something akin to teasing . . . but badly done.

"No!" Jesi whispered fiercely, "I certainly did not." She tried to shake him off, but he wouldn't let go. "Get off!" she tried to yell-whisper, but it just came out wheezy.

"Uh--" he said, apparently struggling to think up a witty response of some sort. Failing, too.

"Yes, I found it." Merard said in a normal tone of voice, obviously choosing to ignore the scene playing out before him. Jesi pushed experimentally against Viranus's steel cuirass, thinking about what a stupid, pink, pig he was. _Piggy little eyes, upturned butt of a nose, ridiculous little ears . . . _

"Good, now we can find brave Galtus Previa and slay the beasts that have hindered him!"

Jesi was just considering using magic to make him let her go – as he'd apparently _forgotten _that he held her up against him still, the imbecile – when Merard finally decided to help her out. He put a surprisingly cold hand on her arm and said "Viranus, let our mage go if you would."

"What? Oh! Yes, of course," he said, letting go of Jesi immediately. He thumped ahead, drawing his sword and waving his torch.

Merard pulled her back a little, slipping a hand over her mouth. "Don't kill him, please. We need to bring him back in one piece, even if he does appear to have some sort of brain malady."

Jesi shook in his cold grip. Curtly, she nodded once. Merard let go of her, and continued after Viranus. "This would be the door, Merard." Viranus said, like Merard couldn't tell. "Lady," he said, nodding to Jesi as she came up a moment later. "Shall we venture--"

"In? Yes. Go ahead. I smell trolls, so be ready."

Something caught Jesi's eye; a nirnroot. A couple feet away, it emitted a soft glow in the night. She bend down, thinking she could mail it to the university to be researched. These things were valued, and there secrets had yet to be unlocked. She could even do a little research on it herself, actually. Who knew what this strange, otherworldly plant might tell her. Though she was no master at alchemy, she had studied it a little bit. And what better a time to enhance her alchemical grasp than when she had nothing more to do that sit in a corner and be bored all day? Yes, this idea was a good one.

She bent down and unsheathed the dagger Merard had given her – simple, steel – and dug a circle in the dirt around the nirnroot. Next she slowly elevated the plant out of the whole, taking care not the damage the roots _too _badly. She had it in her hand when a low, cow-like noise came to her and she looked up, realizing where she was and what she was doing once more.

Oh.

Above her was a very large, very smelly troll. The gods must've known why it hadn't attacked yet, because she sure didn't. As if in slow motion, she saw it raise its huge, moldy arm in preparation for a blow, felt its hot breath hit her face in waves, saw it snarl its teeth and lick the drool from its lips with a long, purple tongue.

Her eyes widened in fear, adrenaline pumped through her veins. How could she have been so stupid, to let a troll find her on her hands and knees, unprepared. How could she not notice her companions departure, how could--

The troll screamed abruptly, falling sideways away from her. Above it was Viranus, a look of surprise on his face. "I cant believe . . . ."

Jesi got up, her face burning with unpleasant embarrassment. She could not _believe _this idiot had just in all likelihood saved her very life. It was repugnant just to imagine it, let alone for it to actually have _been. _

She brushed off her thighs, saying nothing. She knew she aught to thank him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Especially when she thought of all the similar men her Ma had pined after and, much later, pointed out to Jesi as the perfect suitor. _Oh, inimical memories. _

"So that's twice in an hour," said Viranus behind her. Jesi stormed into the caves, knowing full well that Merard was way ahead of her killing off all the trolls. In fact . . .

"Shouldn't you be helping Merard?"

Viranus got the look about him of a dog that had just seen a squirrel. "Yes!" He thundered down the low dirt-walled passage. Jesi followed, but at a much slower pace. Her recent brush with death still ebbing at her mental condition, she tried to quiet her tittering nerves.

She wadded through a large puddle that Viranus had already traversed – quite loudly – and stepped over a dead troll. At least she'd been born with a strong stomach, and had never fostered much pity for beasts. Jesi was just glad that she would likely not have to actually kill one of the animals, _the barbarians will have finished with _that _work by the time I get down to wherever they ran off to._

She bent down again, seized with a sudden idea. Troll fat was worth _a lot _as an alchemical ingredient, and she could always use a little extra money. She would love to be able to tip Emfrid, and maybe send a little money home to Ma. Taking out her silver knife again, she quickly cut several long strips of fat off the dead animal now floating face down in a puddle.

_What a terrible way to end life, even if you are a troll. _She thought as she fit the strips of fat into her pack. She'd have to remember to pick up her nirnroot on the way out, too. Definitely couldn't forget that because after all, it _was _an amazing idea for a pass-time.

She moved on, not really sure where she was going. She figured she could always backtrack and find her way out if she couldn't find the two men, but she doubted that would be necessary. Viranus was a very loud person. Even from way back here, she could hear him yelling about the troll he "sent down to oblivion's bloody gates". _Hey, _Jesi thought, _if he fails as a fighter he can always become a poet. He is just the sort of idiot for that occupation. _

She took a right, then another right, then a left. There were all sorts of alchemical ingredients to be found in caves, as she was discovering. Trailing her fingers along the packed dirt walls, Jesi found it was very peaceful underground. She could still hear the clangs of Viranus clunking around, and even occasionally a word or two from Merard if she got to close to the pair. It was actually rather comforting to know that there was not a shadow of a possibility that she would be unable to find them if the situation called for it. Or that, gods forbid, they would not be able to hear her if she were to yell. The passages seemed to be all interlocking.

She rounded a corner and, just her luck, came face to face with a troll. Well, actually it was face to back. The thing was turned around, hadn't even heard her coming. Jesi paused, holding her breath. She had two options here, go back for assistance or tackle the thing herself. It was small, young and looked weak. Maybe it had run when it heard the barbarians, Jesi didn't know.

She didn't particularly care, either. Trolls smelled, no need to let this one make more trolls down the road. Or sneak up on her.

She mumbled a fire spell, drawing it up into a bundle at her palm. The troll turned around as blazing fire light flooded its tunnel, and it got the spell right in the face. The fire from her hand embraced the beast eagerly, flowing over it and burning every inch of flesh it could reach. The creature was dead in four seconds.

Jesi stepped over its corpse. She hadn't anticipated the smell, or the twinge of guilt in her gut. Looking at the thing, she realized that it wasn't even fully matured yet. A baby.

She scowled at her own idiocy. Even if it was a baby, it could still have killed her. Better it than her, thank you. She wanted to make it back to Chorrol, and eventually the Imperial City.

A ways down, she could hear Viranus yelling about something. She followed the noise, and in a number of minutes found them stomping down the pathway towards her. "Killed in action, I never thought--"

Merard gave her a look that could have either been interpreted as a plea or a glare, Jesi would have to add it to the long list of things she would never know. "Was dead," He grunted to her grimly. "The trolls." Jesi only nodded, sensing the mood of dissatisfaction. She figured any words she spoke would be unappreciated.

"There will be a procession for him, of--"

"Donton? Come, now." Merard said firmly. Viranus jumped up, again resembling a dog, and followed Merard. The two stomped passed her, Merard ignoring her and Viranus giving her a dramatic frown.

He continued to yap about funeral and brave men and being killed in action all the way out of the caves. It got to the point where Jesi could hardly bear it, her ears hurt. She didn't know why Merard didn't simply tell him to be quiet. Another thing to add to her list.

They tramped out of the cave, the men in front of her and Jesi trailing behind. Through the forest, where she tripped several times but at least caught _herself _instead of Viranus doing it, and got caught by a few thorn bushes. One of which she got fed up trying to unhook from her clothes and instead just incinerated the whole thing. That earned her a look from Merard and a glance from Viranus, but Jesi just scowled. She didn't care.

Once they made it onto the path, Viranus took to exclaiming in poetic terms how Previa 'must have' and 'would have' and 'will'. Her ears felt like they 'should have' been bleeding. Gods above, washing latrines would have been better than listening to this boy talk.

She could see the lights of Chorrol, the wall, the soldiers with torches. Yes, almost there. Viranus had drifted into a dramatic silence, leaving them alone with there thoughts for a second. Damnably, he started up again in a moment. "And on that day, that fateful day, Previa must have--"  
"Viranus? Shut _up_!" Jesi yelled. Her voice echoed against the wall, and both soldiers guarding the gate snapped to full attention, staring at her. Merard glanced back, giving her a look. She didn't even care what that look was meant to convey. She was tired, her feet hurt along with her ears, the fat in her pack stunk, and she had several long scratches from branches she hadn't seen because some _idiot _had suggested they travel in the middle of the bloody night. Merard. Fetcher.

And her nirnroot. Damn, she'd _forgot _the nirnroot. The bloody nirnroot she'd almost _died _over was rotting now, or maybe some damn deer had eaten it. Or a troll had emptied its bowels on it. Just another thing to add to her list of unknowns.

She clenched her fists in frustration. _Okay, _she tried to calm herself, _okay. Just relax. Go to the Grey Mare. Go to bed. Sleep. _Don't _explode into a mess of mage guts. It's okay. _"It's okay," she said aloud. "No need to throw a tantrum. You're not two. You're twenty-four. The epitome of maturity, of proper upbringing. Good girl. Walk." She took the orders from herself, marching past a smirking Merard and a flabbergasted Viranus and into the open gates of Chorrol.

"Didn't need the plant anyway," she muttered as she entered the Grey Mare. "I can get one anywhere. And they're not all _that _mysterious after all. Some guy in Skingrad . . ." Emfrid gave her a smile, one that Jesi tried to return. She only managed a grumpy frown.

"Bad night?"

"I hate the Fighter's Guild." She said bluntly.

"Now, they're aren't _that _bad." Emfrid said, winking at her. "They've got some real lookers going in there."

"_You _haven't tagged along for one of the bloody contracts. They're all bloody simpletons, especially that Donton. And I forgot my bloody roots!" she said with frustration, even though she knew Emfrid had no idea what she was talking about.

Emfrid giggled. "Go to bed, grumpy little girl. Soon the after-midnight crowd will come in and have there drinks, and about half of them are Guild folk. You don't want to be around for that."

Jesi didn't respond, instead stalking up the stairs to her room, still muttering about nitwits and trolls and _nirnroot. _


End file.
